


between dawn's shadows

by sassyneki



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, References to Smoking, Takes place between episodes 11-12, Yanjun's family stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-24
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyneki/pseuds/sassyneki
Summary: Yanjun has a penchant for slipping away in the night, and Zhangjing has a habit of following him.





	between dawn's shadows

**Author's Note:**

> listen to: [gondry by hyukoh](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u3RAU0T2RC4)

Northern winters are harsher than southern ones. The wind cuts into your skin, your throat feels like sandpaper, and fingers turn red and numb a minute after you take your gloves off. 

Yanjun learns this the hard way, pulling the ends of his sweatshirt into himself even as he drowns inside a down jacket. He forgot to put on a thermal on his way out of the dorms, and three layers—a t-shirt, a Skechers sweatshirt, and a black down jacket that everyone and their mother owns—were not enough, not even for the strongest of men. 

Maybe if it was snowing, winter would be more beautiful. Shanghai’s winters were never this harsh: the temperature rarely dipped below zero, and snow barely visited. (Though it did this year, a rare sight that Yanjun half-wished he had been there to witness.) There was no such thing as teeth-chattering or having to stuff heat packs into every crevice he could find, or going back for multiple bowls of soup just to warm his hands. The chill in the air never felt this biting, and his bones never felt so brittle.

It has been a while since he felt like this. They had just watched the video of their parents, him standing in front of a mirror, lights dim, a wooden plank in his hand because he thought they were going to scare him again. His mother, her back against the camera; his father, refusing to be shown on camera, not saying a word. 

He can’t remember how long it has been since he left home—where is home, anyway? Taiwan? Guangdong? Shanghai? The convenience store down the street?—and he’s not sure if he really wants to remember. But he remembers how it felt to be home: his sister whining about her homework, his father’s sigh as he slumps into the sofa and loosens his tie after yet another business meeting, his mother nagging at him for not finishing his vegetables. He remembers arguing with his father, throwing names around but never fists. He remembers going to the night market with his sister so that he could treat her to fried chicken and smelly tofu. He remembers his mother’s voice, telling him to brush his teeth and go to sleep, it’s already two am, she can’t fall asleep if he hasn’t.

So maybe the winters in Beijing aren’t like those in Shanghai or Taiwan, and they aren’t like the winters where he could walk down the street for freshly roasted sweet potatoes, still steaming from the cart. But after a whole day of practices, after watching his mother’s back for a half hour and his father’s shadow in the periphery, he doesn’t know what to feel.

“I’ve always thought that my father is a strong man,” he had said, not able to look at the camera. “I will let him know that I’m also a strong person.”

Yanjun treads along the icy path, making sure not to slip. He’s not sure where he is headed. It’s five in the morning, and every one is either asleep or still practising. He’d snuck out in the middle of practice, when Chaoze had told everyone to take five while he figured out the formations for the chorus. Maybe it was a moment of impulse, when he’d picked up his coat and left quietly—he thinks Zhangjun saw him close the door, pull the hood over his head—but, maybe, like now, it was a moment of silence, one in which intuition took over.

He sits on one of the benches lining the path, a bit further away from the main stretch where trainees trekked out for convenience store ramen every night. The seat is freezing, but he’ll make do. 

“You came out again.”

Yanjun shouldn’t be surprised, but every single time this happens, he always is. Swaddled in a down jacket and probably seven other layers, heat packs stuffed into every pocket and in between layers, is Zhangjing. His brows are furrowed, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket, and releases a loud huff when he sits down beside Yanjun. 

This is a familiar sight, Yanjun thinks.

Somehow, they always end up here, between dawn’s shadows. No matter if it’s out in Shanghai, in small alleyways between buildings, or in an open area on the outskirts of Beijing, they always find each other: winter or summer, dawn or dusk. If Yanjun leaves, quietly, without a word, head pulled down and heart drawn close, then Zhangjing will follow.

“You always like to come out here at the strangest hours,” Zhangjing nags, playfully hitting Yanjun’s shoulder. “People need to sleep, you know.”

The first time this happened, they had only known each other for three weeks. It was another late practice night at the Banana Entertainment studio, preparing for their evaluations, and he had just fought with his father over the phone in the afternoon. While everyone took a short nap on the sweaty studio floors, Yanjun had slipped out the door quietly, light footsteps leading him out and down to one of the back alleys. He fished out a pack from his back pocket—once upon a time, a friend had let him try a cigarette, and even though he doesn’t smoke regularly, he always keeps a pack of Viceroys on hand, just in case—and contemplates, if the weather is cold enough for a smoke, if he’s cold enough for a smoke.

“You came out here to smoke?” someone asks, frowning. “Really?”

It was Zhangjing, as it had always been and will always be, back then the new kid from Malaysia with an accent and a penchant for notes high enough to make Yanjun envious. They had been talking, but he didn’t know why the boy would follow him out when no one else ever did. 

Now, Zhangjing asks, “No Viceroys today? Finally graduated to Dunhills?”

It’s a joke, Yanjun knows it, and he has a pack in his pocket, but the thought of even lighting up a cigarette hadn’t crossed his mind at all. There’s no space for this kind of thing, not when he has the image of his mother’s back and the sound of his father’s sigh echoing in his head. 

“It was the video, huh.” At this point, Yanjun doesn’t even need to say anything. “You know, it doesn’t matter, right? Okay, wait, no. Scratch that. Of course your parents matter, but, what I’m saying is, you don’t need to worry too much about what they say. You’re following your dreams and building a career, and you’re a good person. You will do them proud.”

He’s heard this spiel how many times, at this point? Yanjun can’t even keep track any more.

“Think about it. If you had to please every single person on this planet, it would be impossible. So all you can do is your best. Oh, wait, here.” Zhangjing rummages somewhere beneath the nest of multiple layers of clothing, fishes out two heat packs, and stuffs them into Yanjun’s jacket. “It must be cold. I know you’re not smart enough to even wear a thermal out, you’re welcome.” Then he sinks back into the bench with a sigh and places a hand over Yanjun’s, tucks both their palms into the little nook created by their jackets squished together on the bench. “But, like I was saying. Yeah. Don’t—don’t be so hard on yourself, I think. You always work so hard and so much and I think you don’t even realise that you’re burning out, and it’s not even for yourself, it’s for other people. It’s okay to cut yourself some slack, and it’s okay that not everyone might be supporting you. You work for those who do, and you work for yourself.”

Yanjun’s heart crumples. The wrist that Zhangjing is holding trembles, and fuck, Yanjun tries his hardest to steady it, but he can’t. It tremors all the way from his fingers, up his arm to his chest and his neck and to the very bone, pulls him so hard he collapses into himself.

He buries his face in his hands, but there are no tears, only heaving sobs. He can count the number of times he’s cried on one hand. Most of the times, it’s like this: dry coughing, throat closing up, feels like he’s about to vomit but there’s nothing but stale air and the bitter taste of disappointment. The process is kind of cathartic, if he thinks about it, even if he doesn’t have much to show for it after.

A hand rests on the nape of his neck, cold but familiar fingers curling into his hair. He breathes, digging his own fingers into his sweatpants, jaw tensing with the sheer strength of trying to steady himself.

A moment passes, or maybe ten. As time slows, so does his pulse, and Yanjun is left with nothing but the bitter cold and a warm body beside his.

“Thank you,” Yanjun says. It comes out much more stable than he expected. “For coming out here.”

Zhangjing laughs, and Yanjun can’t tell if the cherry red of his cheeks is because of the cold or something else. “I always do.”

“Yeah, well,” Yanjun shrugs. 

This is a side of Zhangjing he doesn’t see often: ruddy-cheeked, swaddled in layers of clothes, smiling so wide his doe eyes curl into little crescents that Yanjun wants to keep all for himself. So he does just that, weaves his fingers into Zhangjing’s, like the warmth of their two hands together can fight off the winter chill. 

**Author's Note:**

> note: title from gondry by hyukoh + i reference yanjun smoking, but obviously that doesn't imply in any way that he smokes irl (and even if he does that's his own business lmao), nor does it impose moral judgments on smoking itself as an act. just in case yall were concerned about that detail
> 
> anyway, i was talking with jana (ily jana) and hyukoh came up on our togethertube and gondry just has 11/10 vibes, and after reading the stuff about yanjun and his family....i think it kinda fit? the whole melancholic, introspective thing is something i can kinda see him doing, and zhangjing being there for him is also something i can see happening. it's just really fun to explore this pairing's dynamics and the sides of each character that we don't usually get to see. (pls don't treat this as a psychoanalysis of any of them or read too deep, it's just a fic!!! and i hope you enjoy reading it regardless even if my writing is kinda rusty)
> 
> anyway tq for reading!!!!! let's be friends on my [ipd twt](http://twitter.com/yanjvnz)


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